By the middle of the summer of 1942, blackout restrictions were beginning to be put in place in coastal US regions. The top half of all car lights were covered over with dark paint or black tape. There was a war going on. “My” grownups always talked about it in hushed voices. Sometimes the radio in our little riverside home would be turned on to give out the news, but I couldn’t understand much of what was being said. What did I know of submarine attacks, Nazis, Japs, fronts or offensives? I did know, however, that one of my uncles, my grandmother’s namesake, had gone off to fight in the war. After having been required to present written permission from my grandparents because he was underage, he enlisted. He was a sailor, off to see the world and combat the enemy. My grandmother cried a lot when he left, but he went anyway, leaving two brothers at home to help take care of the farm.